Breaking Sanzo
by Isil Elen
Summary: An in-depth look at the emotional and physical aftermath of the final battle with Homura. Because there's a lot of Sanzo-angst they didn't get into, and I'm an angst-monger. Complete. No yaoi.
1. Payback

Author's note: I'm just slipping this in as a prolouge; by itself, it's not very angsty. I just thought that with the timeline I've got set up, Hakkai's decision to remove his inhibitors needed some explanation. I don't own Saiyuki, but like the anime, I'm not going to show you Hakkai's youkai form, either. And in case it wasn't evident, spoiler warning for DVD 11 and 12.

* * *

I'm not bothering to use chi anymore. They keep getting up whether I blast them or break their bones, and breaking bones doesn't drain me. The constant slaughter . . . the feel of skin and muscle and bones giving way beneath my hands . . . I'm trying to keep calm and remain focused, but I can feel my control slipping as the fight continues. A part of my brain is already reverting to the primal, panicky state I was in, three years ago when I first became what I am now.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Sanzo press his hands together and close his eyes, but the expected flare of chi does not come – the Maten Scripture is not draped across his shoulders to answer his chanting. His violet eyes snap open, hard as amethysts, and his chi flares in pure, frustrated rage. I almost smile as I mechanically snap the arm and neck of a divine youkai that tried to get him from behind. If only Sanzo were a youkai, the strength of his glare would surely vaporize the divine youkai nearest him.

Something snaps and resonates within me, and a horrible certainty turns my body to lead. My thoughts circle around themselves in a sort of death spiral, repeating and coming ever closer to a truth that my entire being shrinks away from.

If only he were a youkai, his aura would vaporize—

If only he were a youkai, his aura—

If only he were a youkai—

If only he were—

If only—

If—

_Sanzo, I would gladly suffer any hurt, if it means that you would be spared it. _

I stop dead, fragments of thoughts and memories whirling around in my mind. This, then, is my validation. My atonement.

"Sanzo?" I force my voice into its usual light tones, though I can feel my humanity dying a second time, leaving me an empty shell. Sanzo glances at me curiously. "I have a plan. Please leave me here and go retrieve the Scripture."

Sanzo shoots another divine youkai and turns to glare at me. "You're going to...?" His eyes narrow at my nod. "You're remembering your promise?"

"Yes." My voice is completely serious.

"I'm still holding you to it." The same hard, angry tone he'd used the first time he threatened to kill me.

This time, however, I know that Sanzo's tone hides a deep, gnawing concern. A genuine smile spreads across my face, acknowledging the emotion he refuses to show. And if I were admitting it, which I'm not, my smile is somewhat of an apology. That thought barely crosses my mind when his hand shoots out and gathers a fistful of my shirt, and I'm suddenly eye-to-eye with a very angry Genjo Sanzo.

"I knew what you were when I made you promise," he hisses at me, low enough that no one else will overhear. "And that didn't change anything. The name I gave you still fits." There is honest anger in his eyes. "If you let yourself get killed, I swear I'll fucking shoot myself and name that scumbag Homura as my goddamned successor!"

"Sanzo…" I murmur, shaken. This must be when it feels like any time I emotionally blackmail Sanzo into living. By the time I've gathered my thoughts again, the other three are halfway to the door.


	2. Broken Fragments

Author's note: If you haven't seen the end of Saiyuki, then for the love of your diety of choice, don't read this 'fic. Also, lots of angst. You have been warned.

Disclaimer: I don't own Saiyuki. If I did, the final battle would have taken a whole lot longer, and Gojyo and Goku would have been animated as roughed up as Hakkai was.

* * *

Fragmented images. Distorted sounds. Memories? Thoughts? Like looking at the world from underwater. Nothing makes sense, images and sounds swoop around, collide, and break apart. _Thump. Thump. Thump_. There is a rhythmic concussion. _Thump._ It drags my swirling thoughts back into straight lines, if short ones. _Thump._ The fractured images shatter with each impact, fall away in showers of glittering bits. _Thump._ The distorted sounds condense, become almost recognizable. _Thump. Gasp. Thump._ Wait . . . gasp? _Gasp. Thump._ Someone is breathing. _Thump. Gasp. Thump._ Who? I force my awareness slowly outside my body, like moving through mud. _Gasp. Thump._ Someone is next to me. _Thump. Gasp_. Someone who is wounded. _Thump._ And holding me upright . . . ? _Gasp. Drag. Thump._ Upwards motion. _Drag._ _Thump._ Stairs? _Gasp. Drag. Thump_. I am being dragged up stairs. _Drag. Thump._ Who? _Gasp. _I focus all my energy on my eyes, and am rewarded with a blurry image of grey stone stairs and a boot. Boot . . . whose boot is that? _Thump._ I know that boot. _Drag._ My face doesn't respond to my inner urgings. I try to frown in concentration, but just wind up drooling on myself. The boot moves, and my field of vision is flooded by a thick red. _The pain in my eye and my startlement almost cancel each other out, and I realize I'm lying on the ground. _

_"Your eye!" The kid who moves like lightning cries out, perched on my chest. "Is your eye . . . ?"_

_I open my eyes and, with difficulty, focus on the dark blur of his face. I have to blink several times before the field of thick crimson clears. _

_"Oh good!" His relief confuses me. "Why'd you do that? I thought you had pretty eyes!" His words are hurt, accusing._

_A sound off to my left catches my attention, and I turn my head. Coming through the woods are that shady monk and—_

_"Gojyo!"_ It should have been a shout, but it is barely a croak, and only vaguely recognizable as a name. There is gray stone in front of me. Stairs. Being dragged up stairs. Someone next to me. The separate bits of information swirl around for what seems like forever and then a thick stripe of red swings in front of me. Red. Someone next to me. Gojyo.

"Go-jy-o…" I manage to form the name carefully, but my voice is no louder than a sigh. Did he hear me? Did I even say that out loud?

"Hey, Hakkai, you ok?"

I must have said it out loud. Gojyo sounds tired. What happened to Gojyo? The effort of thinking is exhausting. "Actually," I manage to gasp out, "I'm just barely managing to stay conscious." I focus on the stairs, the rhythm of Gojyo hauling me up, and use that to anchor my thoughts.

"Good. If you pass out again, I'm going to leave you behind, like I did those other guys."

Teasing, worry. Gojyo is worried. About me? What happened? What other guys? I scramble for something coherent to say.

_This is the first and last time I carry a guy to bed, you got that?_

"Because you're not carrying a guy to bed again, right?" There is a pause. Was that the right thing to say? Did it make sense? The stairs seem to tremble with each motion.

"Right. You got it."

I can't tell whether Gojyo's agreeing with me or not. The stairs are gone. Panic surges through me, giving me the strength to raise my head. Have I lost consciousness again? Where are the stairs? I'm not moving. I must have lost consciousness, because greens and blues swim through my field of vision. Sanzo is there, in my delirium, and Goku, and Homura. There is a towering boulder, and then it breaks apart and the pieces float and dance in the air. This can't be real; I must be unconscious on the stairs, with Gojyo going on ahead. The wavering dream-Sanzo is saying something; his words flow together like ribbons of nonsense. I open my mouth, and nonsense ribbons flutter out and go chasing Sanzo's through the crazy sky. I have no idea what I'm saying; none of this makes any sense. At least it's not a nightmare. Every so often I open my mouth and more word-ribbons come trailing out. Off in the distance, the dream-Goku and dream-Homura are . . . fighting? Dancing? I can't make it out. The dream-Homura winks out. I open my mouth to say something about it, but all that comes out is a ribbon. The dream-world erupts; streaks of white and green weave around crazily and erase the dancing bits of rock. The world breaks up and goes floating, and the streamers erase those bits, too. Then there is only black.

* * *

_Thump. Gasp. Drag. Thump. Gasp. Drag. Thump._ Again, the rhythmic concussions cause the image-fragments to scatter, and I find that by focusing on them, I can drag my wandering thoughts back together. _Drag. Thump. Gasp._ I can't scrape together the strength to open my eyes, but I assume it is Gojyo whose gasping breath I hear. _Drag. Thump._ I focus on the downward motion, anchoring my fragile consciousness to it. _Drag._ Downward motion? Yes, I am being dragged down stairs now. Did Gojyo do whatever it is he intended to do and come back for me? He must have.

Light washes over me. I drink the light in through my skin, like a tree, and discover the strength to open my eyes. _Drag. Scrape. Drag. _The stairs are gone; Gojyo is dragging me through . . . my mind recoils, assaulted by fragments of memory. _Blood spraying. Claws flashing. Fragments of bone, chunks of flesh . . . _the horrors I committed impact against my fragile consciousness and drive a gasp from my parched mouth. The red light of a sunrise pours into the hall from the shattered doorway, illuminating the carnage I left in my wake in harsh, unforgiving detail. It must be some cruel joke of the Heavens that this bloody environment seems to be steadily returning my strength. The fog that clouded my thoughts evaporates, leaving me horribly, completely rational. I have the strength to stand without aid, and even provide support to Gojyo and help him across the treacherous floor.

Hakuryuu glides up, chirping her concern. I extend my hand and she lands delicately, one foot on my wrist and the other on my bare finger to open the link between us. She's worried; my borrowed strength won't last. Goku and Gojyo are walking wounded, she communicates to me, and something is very wrong with Sanzo, but she doesn't know what.

_Could you please take us to a large town,_ I ask her silently.

She ducks her head and chirps agreement, then glides outside. I focus on supporting Gojyo, whose strength seems to have run out, and eventually get him outside where Hakuryuu waits in jeep-form. He's barely conscious, and I have to bodily lift him into the back seat and prop him up. Goku climbs in silently and leans back, asleep in seconds. Hakuryuu was right, they're both severely wounded. Gojyo's covered in lacerations, and Goku looks like he fell down a mountain and broke the slope with his body. A momentary thought flashes through my head – _what happened to them?_ – but I have no time to ponder it. My strength is leaving me as quickly as it came. I hurriedly climb into the driver's seat and am aware that Sanzo is looking at me. Can't risk looking at him – I'm fading fast.

"Hey, Hakkai. Are you sure you're okay to drive?"

The words come to me distorted; the world is fading out again. I force a reassuring smile onto my face and lock my hands around the steering wheel.

"I'm okay," I say quietly, and focus what's left of my attention on Hakuryuu. _I'm going to pass out in a second. Can you get us to a good-sized town?_

The engine revs reassuringly, and the last thing I am aware of is Hakuryuu moving carefully forward.


	3. Behind the masks

Author's note: Angst-mongers, rejoice. Yaoi fans, despair. There is no yaoi here, but there's a whole truckload of angst. If you're just reading for the angst, you can stop after this chapter. Obviously, I don't own Saiyuki, but a girl can dream, can't she?

* * *

"_That means—" Gojyo's voice is tight with exhaustion and nerves._

"_Yes!" I don't give him time to finish. _

_I start condensing chi into a tight point, but quick as thought the silver crescent blade and chain whip past me. Just as well, because the chi I'm drawing out is more than I can afford to lose; my control suddenly isn't there. The chi dissipates with a soft popping sound as the world suddenly tilts crazily and goes black._

_I hope Gojyo hit…_

I come awake with a gasp, hands sore from being locked around Hakuryuu's steering wheel. From the light hitting my eyes, it can't be more than three hours past dawn. She's parked in the shade of a prosperous-looking inn, and the seat beside me is empty. Sanzo—! The need to make sure Sanzo is okay is the only thought in my head. Panicking, I clumsily climb out of the driver's seat and stumble to the door of the inn, one hand against the wall for support. I feel like I'm moving underwater with no air. I practically fall through the door and keep moving through sheer inertia. There is a figure in pale robes by the counter. I careen off a table to keep myself upright, and manage a few more unsteady steps. The figure turns around.

"Sanzo?"

I reach one hand towards him as I spend the last of my adrenaline energy on calling his name. I can see him take three quick steps towards me as my limbs turn to lead and I start to fall over. His hand shoots out and grabs mine just before I hit.

"Damnit, Hakkai! This is all my fault!"

The world starts to fade out again. _Wait, did he just say that out loud?

* * *

_

I come awake suddenly, the memory of a sharp sound snapping me into consciousness without connecting the memories of where I am or how I got here. Okay, no reason to panic, just look around. I sit up and find myself facing a closed door. I am on a palette on the floor. Look to my left – Gojyo lies on a bed, mostly covered in bandages. Look to my right, Goku lies on a second bed, splints and bandages on multiple parts of his body. Both of them are unconscious. There is a very large bowl next to me, a large serving of something brown and semisolid looking small as it covers the bottom. There is a spoon in it, as though someone had gotten interrupted in the middle of emptying it. I pick up the spoon; the handle is still warm, and the food substance on it seems to be cooked barley with lots of honey. Almost reflexively, I eat the remaining mixture as my brain tries to sort itself out.

I remember the mob of divine youkai, and removing the inhibitors on my ear to fight them. My thoughts shy away from the actual memories of having become almost completely youkai, and I am suddenly very glad of the small inhibitor I'd imbedded in my abdomen those months back, just before we'd faced the scorpion youkai. I skip ahead to the next patch of true coherency, crossing back through that hall as we left. I remember Hakuryuu telling me that something was very wrong with Sanzo. Suddenly, everything falls into place. Gojyo and Goku are severely wounded; I'd collapsed right in front of Sanzo. I'm fairly sure he didn't claim responsibility for this mess out loud, and I was in no condition to pick up subtleties from his chi. I suck the spoon thoughtfully. He must have been the one feeding me, but for a thought like that to have been broadcast so clearly . . .

"Hakuryuu?" I call, setting down the empty bowl with the spoon inside it.

Something stirs on Gojyo's bed, and Hakuryuu's tiny head rises from the mass of bandages.

"Was Sanzo in here?" Her head bobs: yes. "Where did he go?"

She moves her head towards the door, then snakes it around to the right and immediately back towards the center of the room and looks at me, her slender neck forming a U-shape.

"The room next to us, on the right?" An affirmative chirp. "Thank you." I smile my gratitude, and she lays her head back down.

I stand up carefully. The honey has mostly restored my chi reserves, the barley is giving me a more solid source of energy, and the time I spent unconscious has gone a long way to restoring my energy system to normal after having become almost completely youkai – further youkai than I'd been before. Sanzo's accusing reassurance just before I had done so, followed by several hours of not being able to think about it, much less brood about it, have left me remarkably grounded. The feelings of guilt and worthlessness that had hounded me for over three years as I struggled with the fallout of Kanan's abduction . . . they are still there, but quiet, no longer something to wrestle with. Sinner, abomination . . . I am what I am, and nothing will change that. I can accept my worthless nature completely, without wishing to be what I had once been. Gonou has finally been laid to rest, and for the first time in my new life I feel whole and balanced. There is no time to revel in my newfound peace; I have a debt to repay to Sanzo, and quickly.

A few quick steps to the door, shut it gently behind me, and open the door to Sanzo's room. What I see does not surprise me, not after what's happened. Sanzo is sitting on the room's single bed, leaning against the wall with his knees drawn up to his chest. The Maten Scripture has been laid neatly atop his robe on a nearby chair, and his right arm trembles slightly as it holds his gun firmly to his temple. He gives me a look of hopelessness and utter despair as I close the door behind me, and it looks like he's been crying.

"You're breaking your promise, Sanzo," I point out mildly as I move towards him.

"Then I release you from yours." Sanzo's voice is shaky and his eyes beg me to stop, turn around, and walk away.

There is a gentle, apologetic smile on my face, but I doubt Sanzo is aware enough to interpret it. When I reach the bed, I calmly reach out and grasp Sanzo's right hand in my left, pulling it and the gun away from his head. Skin-to-skin contact; his panic slams into me. He has been pushed almost to the breaking point, his chi a writhing mat of sick yellow and dirty white on the background of his usual blue. Through our mingled chi, I send him some calming energy and watch as the yellow and white are absorbed by the blue. Wait . . . absorbed? A jolt of alarm flashes quickly through me as I come to a horrible realization. Sanzo does not allow himself to express or vent his fear and guilt; he has been bottling everything up for . . . how long? How long has it been that he has borne the name of his predecessor? I have tried for three years to observe Right Action with Sanzo, not causing him harm through action or inaction. But I am also a healer, and I understand that sometimes in order to heal, one must first do something that hurts. _Sanzo, forgive me for what I am about to do . . . _

Some of the panic leaves Sanzo's eyes and rationality returns to his thoughts. My grip on his hand – and the gun – is gentle but unbreakable as I bring my hand back to my chest. His eyes widen and he starts trembling as he realizes that the gun is now pointed at my own heart. Well, just to the side, but he doesn't know that. He struggles, trying to free his hand from my grip or at least let go of the gun. When this fails, he looks up at me and my eyes hold his captive.

"Hakkai . . . don't . . . I won't . . ." The panic jumps back into his eyes, but to his horror he is still painfully rational. His words are almost sobs, pleading while denying the reality of the situation.

"This is what you would be doing to me." My words bore relentlessly into Sanzo.

I am being cruel, but this has to be done. Sanzo tries to look away, but I'm not letting him. I smile apologetically, and this time he is able to see the apology through his rising panic. My thumb shifts to press his finger against the trigger, and his conscious mind shrieks in fear and denial for an instant before my grip tightens.

The sound of the gunshot paralyzes Sanso, and threatens to shatter him.

Hot pain sears my chest. I drop to my knees, releasing Sanzo's hand as I bring both of mine up to my bleeding chest and begin to heal the wound. There is a sharp motion in my peripheral vision, and the gun clatters somewhere behind me. I am vaguely aware of Sanzo hovering over me uncertainly; all my attention is focused on repairing the damage to my internal organs and continuing to breathe in short, sharp gasps. When the wound is entirely healed I rest a moment, sucking in deep lungfuls of air. I compose myself and look up at Sanzo; his face is a broken mask of anger with anguish beneath it.

"Damnit, Hakkai!" He's trying to sound furious and failing; his tone is one of pleading and heartbreaking vulnerability. "Why did you do that? Why did you shoot . . ." He breaks off and looks away, struggling for composure.

"To prevent you from shooting yourself," I reply calmly, brushing bits of dried blood off of my hands.

" . . . Why . . . ?" The word is barely a gasp between choked-back sobs.

I reach up and brush my fingers against the back of Sanzo's hand, forcing him to look into my eyes and then pulling him forcibly out of his nervous breakdown.

"Sanzo, I would gladly suffer any hurt, if it means that you would be spared it."

He flinches away from me at the reminder of my time at the temple, and at the realization that I mean that literally. His mouth opens, but he hasn't formed a coherent protest, so I cut him off before he starts babbling.

"You made me live," I say simply, with no attempt to control my voice. The words are a calm statement of fact, with no accusation. "This is how I chose to live my life. Would you rather I . . . didn't?" The tone insinuates that if Sanzo is unhappy with my choice, the alternative is for me to break my promise to him. I've left him no choice but to accept that I am going to keep putting myself between him and things that would cause him to suffer.

He sighs, face twisted into a sour grimace. ". . . never meant for anyone to get hurt on my account." It's not got enough force to be a challenge, and comes out more like something he's trying to convince himself of.

With the masks and facades out of the way, I am able to pick out Sanzo's logic with disturbing ease. He and I really are too much alike; while I have been trying to spare him any pain, he has been trying to do the same, taking all the world's hurts upon himself out of a deep responsibility to his position and the man who'd held it before him.

"Life is suffering." My words hammer at him gently, relentlessly forcing him to realize their truth. "We suffer because we desire things." His expression takes on that disdainful cast that any prolonged discussion of Buddhism brings about. "I was already hurt when you found me. There was no way for you to take that hurt away from me, but you gave me a reason to not want to die." It hurts slightly, saying that aloud. Aches like a scar, and that slight pain makes the tone urgent. I am willing Sanzo to accept my words in the core of his very being. "You gave me something to desire, something I felt was worth the pain it brought."

He flinches again, and I can almost see his silent self-accusation at having brought more pain into my life. I raise my eyebrows and regard him with a chiding look.

"I did try to make you aware of the fact that if you abused yourself, I was more than willing to match you abuse for abuse until you stopped."

The cringe tells me that Sanzo knew this, but had been trying to deny it. The guilt at letting me hurt myself had indeed gotten him to stop, but he'd never consciously connected it directly to his own actions. Or perhaps he did, but he hadn't known that I'd done it deliberately.

"It's called negative reinforcement," I continue in an artificially casual tone. "The premise that if you do something bad, something else bad will happen. It's supposed to teach you that negative actions will only result in further negativity, and thus encourage you to not do bad things." The flat look on Sanzo's face brings an embarrassed smile to mine. "Ah, it didn't work quite as well as I'd hoped. But it did stop individual events from dragging on," I continue semi-apologetically, "and nothing else really worked for that."

A streak of the irritation he felt all the times I forced him to take better care of himself shoots through his chi. As with Goku, Sanzo's raw nerves have occasionally caused him to wish that he hadn't saved us from our lonely fates.

"'No good deed goes unpunished.' I believe that saying fits here," I say lightly in response to that unspoken thought.

He snorts and looks away.

"Sanzo." I call his attention back, force him to look at me. "Did you honestly expect me to not worry for you, after seeing how much you worried for me?"

" . . . not honestly," Sanzo admits grudgingly. "But . . ."

"But you also never honestly admitted to yourself that you did worry for me?" I am not really asking, more forcing him to admit to it now.

He looks away again, uncomfortable.

". . . not for a long tone," he mutters reluctantly, realizing that I'm not going to let this go. "And . . . if you were going to worry for me . . . I would've preferred you not hurting yourself in the process." He manages to scrape a weak glare together, accusing me of making him worry with my little bouts of self-abuse.

"It was the only way I had to stop _you_ from hurting _your_self," I retort calmly, unashamed. "You have no one to blame but yourself, you know." He looks down at me suspiciously. "If you'd let me continue to think you despised my very existence, I never would have devoted myself to trying to keep you in one piece."

Sanzo gives me a haunted look. If he'd done that, I would have kept hurting myself, getting worse and worse until I'd died. And I know now that with as hard as he worked to keep me alive, my death would have shattered him. It occurs to me to wonder how close I came to dying today; I know that the fear of my death is an old one, and shouldn't be affecting him this strongly. Ruthlessly, I push the guilt of that possibility aside. Browbeating myself over that now won't do Sanzo any good. I've made my point; time now to drive it home in such a way that he can't deny it to himself ever again.

"Then by forcing me to live, you were in fact crying out for a reason to live, yourself." He gives me a startled look, but I can't tell whether he's surprised that I've figured this out, or just that I'm saying it out loud. "I'm not going to let you hide from this or pretend it didn't happen, because the more you evade that admission, the more you're going to end up hurting yourself." A pause to let that sink in; Sanzo's eyes have a vaguely glazed look to them. I touch his hand gently, and his eyes focus on me again. "And I believe I've made it quite clear that your pain is my pain."

The dirty white of guilt completely overwhelms his chi; between that and having his defenses stripped away, there is nothing he can find to say. He looks at me pleadingly, begging me to drop it and let him try to get his denial back into place.

"You don't have to say anything to me," I tell him softly. "I just want you to know that I WILL know if you start brooding about this." A tiny prod with my chi, and he understands my meaning. "And when you do, I'll be right there to look into your eyes and force you to remember this."

I stand up and walk across the small room. Sanzo's chi relaxes a bit at the motion, then alarm shoots through it as he realizes that I'm not leaving. I can feel his panic beat against me as I kneel and retrieve the gun, then return to where he sits trembling on the bed. His gaze is riveted on the gun as though it were a poisonous snake, and he does not see my hand reaching for his. His head jerks back to look at me as I grab his right hand, but he does not resist as I wrap his limp fingers around the gun and guide his hand until the barrel is pressed firmly to my left temple, his finger held unresisting against the trigger. Sanzo is attempting to withdraw inside his own body.

"I want you to look at me very carefully." My chi doesn't give him a choice; I am burning this image into his mind with the magnitude of the situation. "This is my life you hold in your hands." Through our mingled chi, I convey to him that the gun to my head is metaphoric of the relationship that has grown between us from the first bloody seed planted more than three years ago. "If you pull that trigger, I will die." I am spelling things out as though to a small child, but right now, that's all Sanzo is capable of understanding, even with my chi underlining every word. "Now listen to me. Your life is my life. If you put this gun to your head again, I want you to remember this and know that you would be putting it to my head, as well. Do you understand?"

Sanzo looks between my serious eyes and the gun against my head with a sick expression, then with an effort, focuses on my face and nods once, helplessly. I release his hand and place the gun on the chair where the Maten scripture has been folded neatly, then sit on the bed beside Sanzo. He has his face buried in his hands, and his breathing is shallow and irregular. I place my hand on his bare shoulder, soothing his chi with my calm reassurance.

"I don't hate you, either for what happened or for what you just tried to do." My voice is warm and comforting, and that seems to be dissolving the last remnants of the walls he's been using to hold all the pain inside for almost a decade. "And if you ever kill yourself," I continue in that same soothing voice, "I will forgive you. But I will also follow you to Hell, and make you see what I've done to myself because you weren't there to stop me."

There, now he knows that if he wants me to live, all he has to do is live himself. I've given him the reason he's been searching for so desperately since his mentor died. I've seen into the darkest portions of his soul and not turned away; I've promised him my forgiveness even if he breaks his promise to me. Deliberately, gently, I pull down the last fragile barrier between himself and his past.

I can feel him regressing as all the old pain floods his heart. Behind his hands, he starts weeping, and he unconsciously turns to me for comfort. I hold him as though he were a small child, radiating love and forgiveness as he cries all the tears he has not let himself shed in many years. When he has cried himself out and is trembling on the edge of unconsciousness from emotional exhaustion, I gently tuck him into bed. He falls asleep immediately, looking more vulnerable than I've ever seen him. After a moment, I quietly leave the room and shut the door behind me.


	4. Rebuilding

Author's note: See? I'm a considerate angst-monger and tormentor of characters which belong to other people. I break them, and then I put them back together again. Still no yaoi, but those of you who like seeing Sanzo helpless and submissive are free to fantasize. I'll just be over here, hiding from the Wrath of Sanzo.

* * *

Hakuryuu chirps inquiringly at me as I slip back into the room Goku and Gojyo are sharing. _All will be well_, I tell her in a pulse of chi as I kneel by Goku's bed. He's pale and sweating, and his chi is patchy and dark. Whatever Homura did to him, he'll be several days recovering just from the look of his chi. I run my hands quickly down his limbs and torso, getting a general overview of the damage done to bones and organs. Luckily, the little bit of organ damage he suffered seems to be healing on its own. A quick touch-up to make sure it's on the right track, and the rest can wait. It's not enough to kill him, and until his chi comes back to a more normal-looking state, I don't really want to be poking too much at his body.

Gojyo is awake and looking at me as I get to my feet and cross the room to his bed. As with Goku, I run my hands briskly down his body, feeling where the injuries are from the grey patches in his energy system. No broken bones, but several fractures and moderate internal organ damage. Gojyo says nothing as my hands come to rest on his abdomen, but I can feel his wince as the tissues knit back together. I don't have the energy to heal the organs fully, but I nudge them about halfway to fully healed. Gojyo doesn't use his chi, so his reserves are full and his body will heal the rest within a day or two.

"Oy, Hakkai." His voice is cracked and dry. "Can you do something about this pain? I'd like to sleep sometime so I don't have to listen to that stupid monkey snoring all night." He tries to give me a teasing look, but it comes out as a grimace.

"I'll get you something to drink," I reassure him, and he nods.

The innkeeper is surprised to see me up and about, but is more than happy to give me free run of his kitchen when I explain my desire to look after my companions. Sanzo must have impressed him favorably, which is a minor miracle in and of itself. Somehow, the falling night outside the windows in the kitchen doesn't surprise me. Between the state Sanzo was in and the state I was in, it's not hard to guess that he was feeding me steadily through the day. If it took me most of the day to regain consciousness, even with a chi-intensive food such as he was feeding me, then I really was close to dying. He saved my life again. The guilt is trampled beneath the knowledge that forcing him to break down like that and get things out of his system is the best way I could have repaid him. It doesn't take me long to get a small pitcher of clean water and a glass, and I return to the double room within a minute or two. A slight frown crosses my face as I realize I should have brought the bowl and spoon with me to the kitchen. Gojyo watches me weakly as I infuse the water with the sort of chi usually reserved for Sanzo's "tea", and gratefully drinks the glass I pour for him. Within a minute he's out cold, face relaxing as the pain is dulled. I gently check Hakuryuu for lasting damage, but aside from a bit of energy-drain, she's fine. The palette of blankets I'd been resting on all day is unwieldy, but I drag it out of the double room and spread it out against the far wall in Sanzo's single room.

Between the unnatural combination of my youkai chi, my human body, and the environments I lived in while getting used to that combination, I am a light sleeper. As long as I am not suffering from severe energy drain, even quiet noises or changes in the chi around me will cause me to wake up. So when Sanzo makes a mewling sound in the middle of the night, I come awake instantly and focus on his chi, searching for any hint of trouble. The room is completely dark, but with the vulnerable state I left him in, his chi is clearly visible to me. He is still lying down, his chi a startling cross between the blue of a clear sky and a soft lilac, but shot through with an eye-searing orange that indicates panicky worry.

"Sanzo?" I call his name softly, unsure if he's awake or just dreaming.

"Sanzo?" He echoes, and then the orange streaks multiply tenfold. "Master Sanzo? Where's Master Sanzo?"

The voice is at least an octave higher than normal and he sits bolt upright, looking around frantically. I've heard this voice before, when he's sick and his mind reverts to when he was a child. Normally I would just assure him that Master Sanzo is fine, but this situation is different. He's not sick; his mind is not fogged with illness. He is not protected by the walls he usually has around him, and these two facts combined mean that he will likely have already sensed my chi. I lick dry lips at what I am about to do. The way Sanzo reacts to my presence when he's vulnerable has always unnerved me, especially after the night I made him promise. It forces me to realize that he holds me in the same respect as he held his mentor, places that same amount of deep-seated trust in me. If he trusts and respects me that much when he's defenseless, then the inevitable conclusion is that he also trusts and respects me that deeply even when he's fully capable of taking care of himself. . . and I could never be worthy of such a flattering comparison to his mentor.

At the moment, however, I have two options. I can either open my mouth and cross a line I have no right to cross, or I can do nothing. Knowing that he's probably sensing my chi and associating me with his predecessor, I could sit here and do nothing to ease that panicky worry. I swallow; that second course of action is not an option.

"Kouryu," I call softly, my voice as calm and reassuring as I can make it. Sanzo looks directly at me as I stand slowly, the orange in his chi fading to yellows and pinks – concern for someone he cares about.

"Master Sanzo?" The question is more seeking reassurance than anything else.

"It's alright, Kouryu." Three steps take me to the bed; I evade actually claiming to be the former Sanzo and seat myself on the edge, broadcasting a warm affection.

Sanzo flings his arms around my waist and lays his head in my lap, calling me by his mentor's name and quite obviously in the mindset of a decade past. He begins weeping, as though he were again the child he was back then. I find myself in the awkward role of pretending to be the former Sanzo and comforting 'Kouryu' about 'my' own death. Luckily, a hand on his shoulder and comforting chi are enough as Sanzo mourns the death of his mentor. This is probably the first time he has let himself mourn that horrible loss, and as uncomfortable as I am in pretending to be such an important man, I am grateful that my ruse is giving him some small scrap of comfort.

For the second time in a half a day, I let Sanzo cry himself out and then tuck him back in. I remain seated for a minute, one hand still on his shoulder. Through my chi, I send Sanzo into a deeper sleep – he needs to rest after today – and then return to my own palette.

* * *

I wake just before dawn, feeling better than I have since Kanan was abducted. My chi has returned to normal, although my reserves are nearly empty. Sanzo is sleeping peacefully. When one is recovering from a physical wound, one avoids using that portion of the body, so as to let the healing continue uninterrupted. What I did to Sanzo last night certainly counts as wounding, but how does one go about letting an emotional wound heal?

Break the routine.

A quick push with my chi, and Sanzo returns to deep sleep. He'll wake in an hour or so, and most likely be slightly out of it when he does. I shut the door quietly and find the bathing room; a quick wash and chi-freshening of my clothes, and off to the kitchen. Normally, for Sanzo, I'd prepare semi-bland foods I know his stomach won't complain about. I usually don't prepare very much because it usually doesn't get eaten; Sanzo will pick at it, eat a few bites halfheartedly, and leave the rest. This is a routine three years old at the least. Slightly giddy at not having the weight of my guilt and worthlessness weighing me down, I decide to break my side of the routine and see if I can shock Sanzo out of his. Since I've been given free reign of the small kitchen – this inn doesn't serve large meals – I go all out, preparing a miniature version of the breakfast I'd prepare for Goku and Gojyo. I still make sure all the foods are things that won't upset Sanzo's stomach, but the dishes are much more lavish than I would normally prepare – for either of us. I make sure there is plenty of egg and other chi-intensive foods; I will have to heal the other two, and my reserves are still very low. The last dishes are just about done when Sanzo's unguarded chi enters the small dining room. I transfer them to serving dishes and bring them out, setting them by Sanzo. He's standing in a daze, over-robe still in his room, one black-sleeved hand on the back of a chair, looking at the food as though not quite believing that it's actually there.

Normally, I would pull out the chair and wait for Sanzo to seat himself. Thus, today, I merely seat myself across from him and start serving myself. He blinks, then sits down and watches my hands absently.

"You should try some of this," I tell him cheerfully, pointing to a dish by him. "It came out rather well."

He looks up at me, startled, and clumsily scoops a portion of food onto his plate. The look he gives it is one of mild astonishment, amazement that it's there at all. I continue to eat; I want to get Gojyo's and Goku's internal injuries taken care of. After a few minutes, however, Sanzo is still looking at his plate in astonishment.

"Are you going to eat that?" I gesture with my fork, the way Goku would.

". . . yes." Still off-balance, Sanzo starts eating, and I polish off one of the egg dishes.

He keeps shooting me looks that aren't glares, merely puzzled and trying to figure out why I'm acting so unlike myself. I return them with amused glances and teasing smiles, but never the mask-like smiles I've been using to cover my emotions. When I've eaten enough to restore my chi reserves, I slip into the kitchen and come back with two more plates. Half of the remaining breakfast foods go onto those plates, and then I take them back into the kitchen and cook the rest of Goku and Gojyo's breakfasts. Sanzo is still at the table when I come back, slowly eating as though unable to believe that it is his hand lifting the food to his mouth. He fixes me with a look of mute panic as I pass.

I set one plate down on the table and clasp his shoulder reassuringly – physical contact is usually avoided. "I'm going to bring the other two something to eat and check them over. You're welcome to stay here and keep breakfast company," I tease gently, letting my chi reassure him that Gojyo and Goku will be staying in their room for a few days yet.

Sanzo nods, still not saying anything, and I retrieve the plate. His chi is an unusual mix of concern and uncertainty, swirls of orange-pink and sparks of blue-white on a background of vulnerable lilac. I've broken his walls, and he either hasn't decided or hasn't been able to re-build them yet. He'll likely be quiet and vulnerable for a few days, but that's better than bottling everything up again. Opening the door to the double-room requires some creative balance, but I am able to wrestle it open and nudge it shut behind me. Gojyo is awake, propping himself up on one elbow to take his breakfast. He doesn't bother sitting up, just eats propped up with the plate resting on the bed and Hakuryuu perched next to it, eating the bits Gojyo nudges her way. The jug of water is considerably lower then it was last night; he must have woken up once the chi in it wore off and needed to dull the pain again.

Goku is staring blankly up at the ceiling. He blinks owlishly at my approach, barely recognizing me. His injuries aren't bad enough to prevent him from sitting up, but he's so out of it that I have to lift him into a sitting position and set the plate on his legs before he realizes that there's food in front of him. While he's eating absently, I prod at his chi. Those dark patches are still there, worrying me. They're slightly smaller, so I have to assume that it's something that his chi will fix by itself. I quickly finish the healing one of the brighter patches had been working on; with no more internal organ damage, the patch of brighter chi drifts down to one of the fractured bones. Even the brighter bits aren't anywhere near what his chi normally looks like. I tease a dark splotch gently, infusing it with some of my chi. It brightens a bit, and I make a mental note to feed Goku very chi-heavy foods to help with what must have been severe energy-drain. When he's done eating, I make him lie back down and push him into a deep sleep so that he can heal without aggravating his wounds or his roommate.

Gojyo's done with his breakfast by the time I've finished checking Goku. He watches me intently as I continue healing his internal organ damage. My reserves are still lower than I'd like them to be, and with what we just went through, I don't want to have something come up and be without the energy to take care of it. What's left is moderate to severe bruising of the organs, no punctures or tears, and will heal naturally in the next day or so.

"Hey . . . are you okay?" His voice is still scratchy, but not as bad as it was yesterday.

"Yes," I answer simply, the truth of that one word surprising him.

"How's Sanzo?" There is hesitant worry in Gojyo's voice.

"He'll be a few days recovering," I say evasively, but the truth of the statement satisfies Gojyo. "I'll bring you some more water."

"How 'bout some smokes?"

"That depends," I tease, "on if you can sit up long enough to smoke them."

He laughs a little ruefully as I gather up the dishes and the water jug and slip out of the room. Sanzo looks up hopefully as I approach the table.

"Just a minute," I say as I pass. "I need to bring Gojyo more water."

He nods and pushes a bit of food around a plate; he's eaten more than he normally would in two meals. It's the work of a few seconds to fill the jug and infuse the water with chi that will knock Gojyo out and dull his pain, and another few seconds to bring him the jug and close the door behind me.

"I'm going shopping," I tell Sanzo's expectant look. "We need food supplies; Goku and Gojyo will need to eat to replenish their strength. You don't have to come; you can stay here, if you like."

_Do you mind if I tag along?_ Sanzo's eyes beg. _I need human contact._

". . . or, if you prefer, you can join me."

It's a little unsettling to see him so . . . timid, but he is visibly relieved at the second option and gives me a sharp nod.

"I'll be just a minute." The first words he's spoken all day are soft, hesitant.

At my nod, Sanzo returns to his room and comes out wearing his usual robe. The Maten Scripture is not draped around his shoulders, but the slight bulge on one side tells me that he has it under his robe somewhere. He comes to a stop a few feet from me and stands there uncertainly until I stride confidently towards the inn's door. I lead him through town until we reach the market; he drifts along behind me like a lost puppy, or like the way I followed him back before he gave me my name. I haggle with the stall-keepers with more self-assurance and less forced politeness than I usually do, buying more meats and dairy products than usual with an eye towards boosting chi levels. When the parcels and bags start to get unwieldy, there is a soft brush against my sleeve. I turn around and am faced with a diffident Sanzo offering wordlessly to carry the assorted groceries.

"Thank you," I say in a quietly encouraging tone as I pile foodstuffs into his arms.

He gives me a startled sort of look and ducks his head, and we continue shopping. I'm not used to having him there while I buy groceries. Between the unexpected feel of his chi behind me and a nagging worry that the crowd will separate us, I keep looking back at him every few steps. He seems very distracted, looking at everyone that passes but not really seeing them. The way he flinches from accidental contact is much more pronounced than it usually is, and I can see his chi flinch away, as well. My glances always seem to anchor him, drawing his eyes and giving some measure of refuge. I make the glances as reassuring and encouraging as I can, and wrap up the shopping. Sanzo is between a rock and a hard place; he needs the reassurance of a familiar aura, and given the options of 'stay at the inn by himself' and 'subject his vulnerable mind to the riot of chi in the market', he has opted to come with me. That, by itself, tells me how defenseless last night has made him, and out of concern for his mental state I cut the expedition short.


	5. Rebirth

Author's note: This chapter is pretty much just to tie up loose ends and finish the rebuilding. But then again, if you're still reading, then you like my handling of the characters, not just my fabulous skills with angst. Still no yaoi, and they're still not mine. But hey, now I'm done and it's up to Atolm2000 to write Sanzo's side of this! I don't know about you all, but I'm looking forward to reading that.

* * *

When we get back to the inn, I make a beeline for the kitchen.

"Could you set those on the table for me?" I toss over my shoulder. "The meat and milk will need to be chilled. And can you bring me that wedge of cheese?" Sanzo's nervously-flickering chi beats at me as he offers me the cheese I've asked for. "Thank you." I give him a genuine smile, but he's got a hunted look on his face. "I'll just be putting the groceries away and then cooking lunch, but I can make you some tea if you'd like to try the inn's bath."

"Just tea?" His voice begs me to answer yes.

"Just tea," I repeat firmly, and am rewarded by stark relief in Sanzo's eyes. It's not surprising that in his very vulnerable state, he wouldn't want his mind clouded by anything.

He nods and hurries off, and I hunt out a teakettle. Chi heats quicker than fire; the pot of brewing tea and a cup are waiting for him by the time he finds the inn's bathing room. I stay just long enough to make sure he's found everything, then return to the kitchen. The stew will have to cook until dinnertime, but it's best to get that started first. My lunch and Sanzo's will take just a few minutes to prepare – bread and cheese, chickpea paste and some assorted vegetables. Just a light lunch, nothing fancy. While Sanzo's soaking, I get that ready and set it on the table, then start on Gojyo and Goku's lunch. Goku won't be very aware of what he's eating, so I focus on foods that will replenish his chi. Gojyo hates bedrest, however, and he's lost a lot of blood. He gets iron-rich foods that can be worked into his favorite dishes. While everything is cooking, I find a single beer and infuse it with chi that will keep Gojyo tractable and somewhat out of it. I don't want him trying to sneak out and find some entertainment, not until he's at least replaced some more fluids.

Sanzo's not out of the bath yet; I pile the two lunches on a tray and chill the beer with a quick flare of chi. The tray makes it much easier to get myself and the assorted dishes into the double-room; I bump the door shut and serve Gojyo first. He tries to sit up, but with a jaw-clenching grimace gives up and settles for the up-on-one-elbow position he used this morning, Hakuryuu chirping a little at being displaced. A few tidbits off Gojyo's plate, however, and she calms down. Goku still needs to be helped into a sitting position, but focuses more quickly on the plate in his hands. The brighter patches of chi are all centered over the fractures that riddle his skeletal structure; now that I have a fuller reserve of chi to work with, I take stock of the injuries. Youkai bones are hard and Goku generally heals quickly, but with the state his chi is in, he'll be abed a few more days yet. Almost every bone longer than the width of my palm has at least one fracture. They're not severe enough to keep him from moving, but the pain will be horrendous once he comes around enough to be aware of it. I pour him a glass of Gojyo's water and hold it to his lips; like a small child, he brings both hands up and drinks noisily. Once he's unconscious again, I snag a chair and sit by Gojyo.

We talk about nothing in particular; a few comments on the battles of yesterday, re-hashing old jokes and other such bits of small talk. He takes great swigs from the bottle of chi-doctored beer, and it's not long before he's out cold again. It takes just a few moments to collect the dishes, and when I emerge from the kitchen, Sanzo is sitting at the table looking blankly at the food set out. I sit across from him and serve myself; Sanzo seems to come back to life at that and mechanically serves himself as well. He eats falteringly – a bite here and there, and long moments of staring off into space in between. I make lighthearted, teasing comments to return his attention to food, but by the time the meal if over, I've eaten easily three-fourths of everything that had been set out. Well, at least he ate something. Sanzo wanders off while I'm clearing the dishes. I'm not worried; he can find me easily enough if he needs me.

The inn has a central courtyard accessible through the kitchen, and through doors in the hallways the rooms come off of. It's two hours past noon, and the sun fills the square with warm, golden light. There is a tiny pond, more decoration than anything else, and a bench by it. The stew is simmering on the fire – it will need to cook for a few more hours yet, but won't really need attending to. I kneel on the eastern bank of the pond so that the sun will shine into my eyes once it gets closer to dinnertime, and empty my mind. For once, my mind actually stays empty. It's not an internal struggle to push aside and smother nightmarish memories or feelings of worthlessness; I am able to simply be the moment. Sound and sensation wash over me. The sun is warm, the wind is cool, Sanzo just entered the courtyard and left again, the pond is splashing. Sun in my eyes – time to check the stew.

I've managed to time things perfectly. The stew needs just a few minutes, long enough to toast some bread over the fire and get bowls set. I serve Sanzo's portion and mine first, being careful to ladle the chunks of meat out of mine. I try to not eat meat, but I am not a perfect Buddhist – I do eat it if I need to quickly replenish my chi. In this instance, however, there is no rush to replenish my reserves and Goku needs it much more than I do. As a finishing touch, I grate a generous handful of cheese over each bowl before balancing chunks of toasted bread on the side. My dinner and Sanzo's go on the table to cool slightly; Goku's and Gojyo's go on a tray, along with another glass of chi-enhanced water for Goku and a bottle of chilled, chi-enhanced beer for Gojyo. The sedating chi I used on them earlier is wearing off when I bring dinner to them, but Goku still looks at me blankly and eats mechanically. The dark patches in his chi are much smaller, but he's still drained beyond anything I've ever seen before. I ask Gojyo if he knows anything about what Homura did, but Gojyo just shakes his head and keeps eating, feeding the occasional chunk to Hakuryuu. He didn't see anything more than I did; we were both fighting Shien and Zenon.

The beer knocks him out, and I do a quick check on both of them to make sure nothing's gotten worse. Goku's bones are mending, but he will still need extra healing if he's to be road-worthy in the next three weeks. What's left offGojyo's internal injuries are healing quickly on their own, but he has a few fractures that will need to be healed, as well. There are several cracked ribs that must be keeping him in constant pain. Well, there was a good bit of leftover stew. I reason with myself that if I consume the leftovers, that will replace the chi I'm about to use. Fingers lightly touching Gojyo's chest, I send tendrils of green energy winding down through his ribs. There, and there, and one on the other side. The green glow brightens and sinks into Gojyo's skin as I force the bones to knit. It's not complete, but it's enough to keep him from being in constant pain. My hands are trembling slightly – that's not good. I need to eat more and lay off the healing until my reserves are where they should be.

Sanzo is picking at the stew when I emerge with the dishes. I breeze past him and into the kitchen, the weight of the tray holding my arms steady. I'll wash the dishes later. My hands are still trembling. If Sanzo sees this, well, I don't want him to worry about me. Not when I seem to be the only anchor he has. Quickly, I ladle hot stew into Gojyo's bowl and pick through it, eating all the chunks of meat. The rest of the stew goes back into the pot; that will take care of the trembling. Calm as ever, I emerge from the kitchen and eat my now-cooled stew nonchalantly. Across the table from me, Sanzo has nibbled at the bread but not actually eaten any of the stew. I ask teasingly if my cooking is really that bad, and he gives me a look half-guilty and half-apologetic, but he does eat some of it. My bowl is empty; I slip back into the kitchen and fill it from the pot. There's not much left – a dozen quick bites, and the pot is empty. Sanzo is making good progress on his serving as I return to the table; we eat in silence for several minutes before he puts his spoon down.

"Thank you." He doesn't look up, and his voice is husky with tangled emotions. Before I can say anything, he stands up and leaves the room, bowl still half-full.

No point in letting it go to waste. I'm not worried about the amount he's eaten, not after the large breakfast he had. Both bowls are soon scraped clean, and I am pumping water for washing the dishes with. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Sanzo out in the courtyard, sitting on the bench pensively and watching me through the doorway. I smile in his direction and begin doing the dishes, the methodical motions almost a meditation in and of themselves. When the last one has been dried and replaced neatly in the cupboard, I turn to the darkened courtyard, but it is empty. On the way to Sanzo's room I detour to peek in on the wounded. Hakuryuu chirps reassurance at me from her perch curled up on Gojyo's chest; he and Goku are still out cold. I quickly make sure the pitcher of water is still infused with potent pain-killing chi, then stroke Hakuryuu's neck gently. She trills deep in her throat and leans into my touch, then nudges my hand away with her head and points through the wall towards Sanzo's room. One last caress, and then I take the hint that I should go to bed.

Sanzo is sitting on the bed when I slip into the room and go over to the pile of blankets I'd dragged in here last night. He glances up, a habitual look or long-suffering irritation on his face, mouth opened to tell me that if I was going to sleep on the floor, to at least bring a pillow or blanket. It's a ritual older than my name; he tells me to bring a pillow or blanket, and I sleep propped up in a corner without them anyway. This time, however, I meet his confused glare with raised eyebrows and a mild expression.

"I'm sorry," I deliberately sidestep the entire ritual by misinterpreting the expression on his face. "I know the room is a little small. I can sleep in the other room, if you prefer."

Sanzo just shakes his head, slightly bewildered at this turn of events. I smile at him, then remove my sash and eyepiece and wrap myself in blankets and close my eyes. After a few minutes, I can hear Sanzo follow suit and blow out the lamp.

* * *

That night, he cried out in his sleep again. A second time I crossed a sacred line and stood in the void left by a much greater man, offering wordless comfort as Sanzo cried tears he could not shed a decade ago. Over the next few days, I doled out healing in small doses, keeping Goku and Gojyo out of it until Sanzo no longer looked at me in mute fear of being alone, until he no longer cried out in his sleep. Within a week, all our injuries had healed and we once again set off into the west.

Sanzo once told me the theory of symbolic death. That by giving me a new name, I was being given the chance to be something else. Gonou is dead, his crimes atoned for and his sins absolved. I had been carrying his specter for three years, but now he is laid to rest. Sanzo had been carrying Kouryu for much longer than that, but I have hope that with the shedding of those tears, the River Orphan has now been laid to rest, as well.

I doubt I will ever find out why Homura wished so desperately to destroy the world and create a new one. I cannot agree with his choice, or forgive the injuries done to my friends, but I am grateful for the opportunity to give Sanzo a gift as precious as the one he gave me the day my name first passed his lips. Not as the scribes wrote it, but as he meant it.

Reform. Renewal.

Rebirth.


End file.
